


In the eye of the beholder

by winter_angst



Category: Beyond Skyline (2017)
Genre: Crack, Crocs Discourse, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26951947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Mark and Harper have similar tastes — except in one particular thing.
Relationships: Mark (Beyond Skyline)/Harper (Beyond Skyline)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	In the eye of the beholder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quillingyousoftly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillingyousoftly/gifts).



> This was fueled from our conversation. I hope you like it!

It was balmy, though humid at seventy degrees. Rose, now nearly grown, was running around with a dog that had survived the invasion and Mark was overlooking it. Even with the world stitching itself back together, they remained in the bunker. There was a shortage of shelter anywhere else as the government was still licking their wounds and trying to get a census on survival rates. Mark didn’t feel inclined to go back to America, not with Trent taking on a mission to protect the galaxy. Besides, Harper was here. 

Harper wasn’t perfect, who was? He kept busy with chemistry which was science so he turned a blind eye towards it even though his inner cop was still itching to close down the lab. But he didn’t use it, he didn’t expose Rose to it -- it wasn’t worth the headache of addressing. He loved him regardless. 

Or so he thought. 

He was carrying Rose back inside when the bugs and humidity grinded his nerves raw. He ran into Harper and just stared at him. “What the actual fuck are you wearing?” 

Harper looked down at his cotton shirt and cargo shorts. “Clothes?” 

“On your feet.” 

Harper looked down and grinned. “Like ‘em?” 

Like ‘em? They were Crocs, mustard yellow and awful in every single way. “Take them off.” 

“Absolutely not. They’re comfortable.” 

“They’re ugly.” 

“I think you’re just jealous you don’t have a pair. Hello there, Rose.” 

“Hi,” she said and Mark continued to stare. “You have pretty shoes.” 

“See?” Harper said, scooping her up. “You have good taste, yes?”

The little girl nodded and Harper smiled smugly at Mark before turning his attention to her and telling her about popsicles with her name on them. He shook his head. Harper was an enigma within himself, oxymorons incarnate: man who was all for peace working for a cartel, a clean eater who cooked meth. It was strange; it was Harper. Mark managed to shrug off the horrendous footwear a few days later and he had nearly forgotten about it when he walked into their room and saw a pair of eggplant colored Crocs sitting by the door. 

“What in the fuck is that?” 

Harper set his glasses aside. “What?” 

“The Crocs! What do you mean ‘what’? Why else would I be upset?” 

“One could say you’re high strung.” 

“High strung or not, why the fuck did you buy not one, but two pairs of them?” Mark considered it a moment and then added, “Also where the fuck are you buying them? There aren’t any department stores back up and running.” 

“I have my connections.” 

“Connections? Mind getting us some papertowels?” 

Harper was thoughtful and then said, “Croc connections.” 

“For Christsake,” Mark sighed, sickened. “Audrey needs my help with something. Those things better be out of sight when I get back.” 

“You’re always so angry. Have you considered meditation? There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable.” 

Mark glared at him but Harper just smiled in that sweet and calm manner that he always did. Somehow it extinguished the flames of anger into smolder coals of annoyance. While Audrey rattled off what needed to be retrieved he began to wonder if Harper was just trying to rile him up. For an unassuming science nerd he had his ways about him. It was always in good fun, he said Mark was funny when he was mad. So he decided he wouldn’t feed into it. 

When the baby blue pair appeared beside the purple and yellow ones he bit his tongue. When the rainbow ones joined the line he practiced all that deep breathing bullshit Harper rattled on about. Once the black one appeared it was a bit easier to ignore -- it was the less ugly of the bunch. Then the puke green ones appeared and Mark had to walk away from the situation in fear of putting bullets into them until they were too mangled to wear. Mark stopped addressing it but Harper didn’t stop buying them. He found a rack from only god knows where and started to display them as if they were meant to be seen rather than incinerated. It was like bamboo shoots under his fingernails, knowing that they were there, mocking him, offending him, and yet he told himself that addressing it would only make it worse. 

Little did know that his lack of objections was received as permission. 

It was just another Tuesday when Mark walked past the lab, Rose sitting on Harper’s knee in front of the computer. He never let her near the actual set up and Mark knew Harper was most definitely the most qualified, and skilled, cook when it came to meth so there was risk of an accident. He didn’t love the idea of Rose being in there but the bunker was too small to keep the biggest room a secret. But he wasn’t thinking about that when he froze, water bottle at his lips as he paused midstep. He took a step backwards, and then another one. 

He blinked, certain he wasn’t seeing properly but no, it was real. 

“What did you do to her?” 

Harper looked away from the screen confused. “Hm?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me Harper. Look at her feet,” ‘feet’ came out stretched and a bit high for Mark’s liking but desperate times meant it could be overlooked. 

“Oh! I found them, aren’t they cute? Rose for Rose,” Harper tickled her side to make her giggle and Mark just gaped. 

Crocs, rose colored Crocs, were marring her adorable little feet and Harper thought this kind of abuse was okay? “Get those ugly things off her feet,” he snapped. 

“I like them,” Rose said, tucking her feet away. “I match Harper.” 

“That you do my dear,” Harper popped a foot out from under the desk and blinded Mark with an adult sized pair. “In fact, I got a pair for Mark too.” 

“We can all match!” she said excitedly. “You’ll wear them too, won’t you?” 

Harper’s eyes glimmered with mischief letting Mark know that this had all been planned. He didn’t bother being surprised -- Harper was single handedly the smartest person he’d ever met. He’d been three steps ahead the entire time and the charade before had just been for his entertainment. 

“You crafty son of a bitch,” Mark said quietly. 

Harper grinned, baring strong white teeth, amused that his longgame had finally reached fruition. 

“Please?” Rose asked, eyes soft. 

“Sure,” he said, a piece of his soul dying. “Of course we’ll all match.” 

Rose slipped down to hug him around his legs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. We’re all going to be so pretty. Harper says we can get little ones for Cho too!”

Mark patted her back, said “Of course we can!” and then mouthed, ‘you asshole’ to Harper who’s grin only stretched wider because he’d had one, a single handed victory over Mark that he intended to make Harper pay for later that night when they were alone. As it turned out he loves Rose and Harper just a little more than he hated Crocs.


End file.
